Military Training
by AnneBTWD
Summary: Micah is ex-military, but will her training prepare her for the apocalypse? Co-write with wandertogondor (/u/4015507). Third person Walking Dead fanfic. Rating is T for language and graphic descriptions. More characters from the show will be added.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is the new Walking Dead fanfiction that I'm working on with wandertogondor on this site (her name is Stephanie and her profile is linked in my profile). We will be cowriting this and it will all be on my account, but everyone should definitely read her other work; she's an amazing writer! The songs used in this chapter are **_Ramblin' Man_ **by the Allman Brothers and **_Knockin' on Heaven's Door _**by Bob Dylan. Reviews and feedback are greatly appreciated if you have something to suggest. Hope you guys like it!**

_Lord, I was born a ramblin' man. Tryin' to make a livin' and doin' the best I can, and when it's time for leavin' I hope you'll understand that I was born a ramblin' man...__  
_  
Micah Basset looked up from the hazy sight of carrick bends which she had been knotting together since the morning; a portable radio played the Allman Brothers in the pilot house. Her hair was matted down with sweat on the sides of her face and against her neck. She squinted her swollen forest green eyes, looking up at the blanket of white clouds that settled on the blue skies. Her sharp ears caught the small waves lapping onto the grassy shore below her boat, bringing the corpses of men, women, and children alike to bloat on the surface.

It wasn't the limp bodies that bothered her; the military had beaten that weakness out of her years of ago. What really sent a sharp coil of concern down to the pit of her gut was the snarling, rabid Rotters that would occasionally pepper the riverbank and fall into the water.

Micah secured a hangman's knot around the neck of a Rotter that she had spent hours fishing out from water. Her joints cracked as she stood and wiped her hands on her pants. Almost from habit, her eyes scanned the shore before leaning down to take the corpse by its shoulders to throw it overboard so it dangled along the side of the boat. She let out a tired groan when she looked down to see that her hands were soiled and sticky with decomposing flesh.

A branch snapped in the distance and she didn't miss a beat to kick the radio off and position herself against the hull. In her hands, she held a recurve bow at ready, arrow poised on the string. The tips of her thumb brushed against her chin as her chest rose and fell according to her controlled breathing, her shoulder and back muscles spontaneously taking most of the pressure to keep the nock of the arrow between her middle and index finger.

"Anyone out there?" It wasn't until the words came out when she noticed how parched and dry her mouth was. A shadow ducked behind a tree near a hedgerow and sat still under the brush. "If you need help or - or shelter..."

Micah caught herself. She had been isolated from living human beings for so long that she almost forgot that they were as dangerous and unpredictable as the Rotters when put in desperate circumstances.

"You've been crashing out there like a bunch of hippos for the past ten minutes." She continued, blowing off the bead of sweat which threatening to slowly roll to her upper lip. "I think I'm the last person you have to be afraid of. You be nice to me and I'll be nice to you."

"We - have a baby," A woman's voice croaked out from the bushes, one arm coming up through the leaves.

"Jesus Christ!" Micah threw down her bow and quickly ran to the pilot house in order to somehow maneuver the boat as close to shore as she could manage without running aground. It never occurred to her in those few seconds whether the woman was lying or not but Micah didn't want the guilt of a child's life on her conscious. She threw a rope ladder over the portside between the corpses which were hung all around the sides of the boat.

One woman holding a baby swathed in a pink blanket and a young boy followed closely behind two men - a third man bringing up the rear with a crossbow. They all scrambled up the ladder with their gear and guns before huddling on the deck, cautiously eyeballing her then the strung up bodies. Micah pulled the ladder up just as a hoard of Rotters reached the portside and grabbed at the metal which was slicked over with flammable oil.

"You should take the baby down to the cabin," She motioned toward the stairs that led to the cabin with an absent wave of her hand. "The pantry's well stocked for now so go at it. I think I may have grabbed a cannister of baby formula by accident on my last supply run. Make yourselves at home. It's fairly safe here if not comfortable."

"What's your name?" The head of the group, a dark haired man in his mid to late thirties, asked, catching his breath and wiping his mud caked fingers on his equally dirty shirt.

"What's in a name?" Micah replied hoarsely. "You folks are tired. Get some rest. You look as bad as those ugly-ass Rotter's down there...no offense."

The head of the group and the man with the crossbow stayed on the deck while the rest of the group went down to explore the boat.

"How old's the baby?" She asked, placing her hands firmly on her waist.

The dark haired man let out a sharp breath, sauntering over to the bulwark and ran his fingers on the oily metal and brought his fingers to his nose. "Why is it covered in gasoline?"

Micah stammered for a moment, tongue-twisted to find the right words to explain her far-off logic. "If this boat gets overrun somehow, alls I got to do is light a match and," she made an exploding sound and wrung her hands in the air. "I'll be sleeping with the fishes."

"That's pretty smart," He admitted, wiping his hand on his clothes again. "I'm Rick and this is Daryl. Thanks for letting us on board."

"How long've you been holed down here for?" Daryl asked, lowering his crossbow so it pointed at the deck.

"Couple of months," She replied evenly, chewing at her bottom lip. "My plane went down offshore near Parris Island - that was before the military disarmed. My copilot died on impact and I was lucky enough to get picked up by a patrol boat that hadn't been infected yet."

"You ex-military?" Rick tucked his pistol at the small of his back, pulling the hem of his soiled shirt over it.

"Yeah," Her eyes pulled into a squint against the beating sun. "I was in the Navy for a couple of years."

Daryl rolled his eyes and spit out a gob of saliva over the side so it landed on the busted in heads of a walker. Micah's head snapped to his general area, her fierce gaze met by his casually indifferent one.

"Got a problem, doll-face?" He snorted, releasing one hand from the bow to stand with his shoulders squared in the denim jacket he wore.

"My boat, my rules. Unless you want to take your chances with the Rotters down there," she indicated down to the growling creatures at the shore, "then you better abide by my rules in my jurisdiction."

Rick placed a hand on Daryl's shoulder. "It's not worth a fight." Then he turned to Micah. "Have you heard of a little town called Woodbury? It'd be in Georgia?"

Micah twisted her mouth to the side, scrolling through her memory since the infection started. "Is that where you folks are trying to get to? It's not far downstream from here. I could get you there in half an hour."

"Woodbury's the last place we want to go." Rick quickly put in.

"If you heard of Woodbury," she put one arm around her waist and tucked the fingers on her dainty hand under her chin, "then you must of heard of Philip Blake. Right? They call him The Governor."

Their faces spontaneously coiled into a mask of anger.

Micah parted a small smile. Philip did that to people.

"You know that bastard?" Daryl fumed, turning his face so she wouldn't see his eyes turning red.

She noticed.

"Heard of him. Never met him." She lied, pulling out a knife from the belt loop on her jeans and starting to scrape off the dried guts that had accumulated on the railings with the broad end of the blade.

"What's with the baby?" Micah asked suddenly, turning back to Rick when she had finished with the knife.

"She's my daughter. My wife... She died having Judith," Rick murmured, lowering his eyes. "My son, Carl, and the others, Glenn and Maggie, are with us." He cleared his throat and looked back up. "If you don't mind, I'd like to check on them."

"Of course," Micah nodded.

She watched Rick walk towards the ship's sleeping quarters before shifting her eyes back at Daryl.

Noticing her gaze, Daryl muttered, "What?"

"I saw your reaction when I mentioned Philip," Micah tested. "What's that all about?"

"That's none of your damn business," Daryl shot her down. "I don't even know your name, so why are you interrogating me?"

"Ooh, 'interrogating'. That's a big word for someone like you."

Micah saw that she had finally gotten something out of Daryl. His face went a little red as he tried to decide on what to say.

Eventually, he spat, "You think you're some big-shot, huh? Only a coward would cover their boat in gas in case of a walker attack. You wouldn't be man enough to off yourself."

Micah shrugged dismissively, brushing his comment off. "I don't know why Rick keeps you around, but if you give me trouble, you're off this ship," she stated firmly. "So find yourself a bunk and stay out of my way."

Daryl shook his head and rolled his eyes. He looked like he was about to spit again, but caught Micah's look and stopped himself. He continued on his way down the same stairs his friends had gone down with his crossbow propped over his shoulder.

As she watched the strange man get farther away, Micah couldn't help but notice the twinge of annoyance she felt. But she didn't know if she was more annoyed at Daryl or at herself.

Micah sighed and slumped down in the corner. She was too tired to get to her own bunk, and even though a part of her said not to let these people catch her off guard, another part told her that she needed sleep. Though the gently lapping water would have been an ideal place to fall asleep, with the wind whispering against her sun-kissed skin, the bone-chilling sound of the Walkers growling cast an uneasy out into the pleasant fall day.

Micah kicked out one leg and carefully used her toe to turn the radio back on.

_Mama, put my guns in the ground, I can't shoot them anymore. That long black cloud is comin' down. I feel I'm knockin' on heaven's door._


	2. Chapter 2

Micah walked past the oddly pleasant smelling aisle lined with shelves upon shelves of dishwashing detergent, cleaning formulas, hand soaps, scented oils, and fabric softeners. It sure beat the stench of dozens of Navy men in sweat-drenched clothing, running back and forth between the giant airplanes in the hangar for the routine checks. She had her eyes glued to the large signs, suspended above by cords of metal, which listed the items in each aisle.

When she read the word 'cookies,' Micah took a sharp turn, smiling to herself on how stupid she, a grown woman, must have looked grubbing for raspberry-almond shortbread thumbprints. Her sharp gaze scanned the shelves, looking for the familiar sack-like bag containing her favorite cookies. She flipped her loose tresses of hair to one side of her shoulder, kicked out one leg, and stared at the shelves. She stood there for awhile, eyes shifting back and forth, hoping that somehow when she looked back at the line of boxes she would get a different result.

"Can't decide?" A deep voice asked from behind her.

Micah was half lost in thought but chuckled and replied, "Yeah. I don't think they sell thumbprint cookies anymore."

"Really?" The voice was drenched in amusement; reaching out an arm to grab a white sack with a golden-brown raspberry thumbprint cookie printed on the front cover with powdered sugar flaked over it.

"Oh," She turned toward the man, her eyes glued to the bag that he held. "Thanks."

"No problem," the man replied.

Micah kept her eyes stuck to the bag of thumbprint cookies before she snapped out of it and took the bag.

"Sorry," Micah blushed. "These just… I don't know. I've been having them for a long time."

"I know, Micah."

"How do you-," Micah stopped, finally looking into the man's face.

He stood a good six inches taller than her with short, dark brown hair. He wore a light blue button down shirt tucked into his khakis that were cinched with a belt. But it was his blue eyes that Micah couldn't forget.

"Philip!" she cried.

"It's about time you recognized me," Philip chuckled. "I have to admit, thumbprint cookies are still my favorite. After all these years; I can't believe it."

"Yeah," Micah mumbled, slowly nodding.

Philip's words had sent her mind back to all those years ago. He was eighteen and she was fifteen. They had met in biology class. He had been one of the suave seniors that would twist around in his seat to pick on the girl behind him.

That's how Micah meet Philip Blake.

Over time, they became good friends. Being a senior, Philip had asked Micah, who was a sophomore, to prom. After he graduated, they kept in contact and still went out when they could. When Micah left high school, she confided in Philip her secret dream to be in the Navy. He was completely against it, but Micah brushed it off, knowing that he'd come around eventually.

She went to a party once when Philip was in his senior year of college. Before he had gotten there, Micah talked with his friends and found out that he had been getting kind of close with another girl on campus. With a little pressing, she found out that Philip had been getting drunk and sleeping with other girls at frat parties. She did the only thing she would manage to do to show how he had hurt her, ignored all his advances to talk or spend time. He protested that he had never even looked at another girl when he was with her.

She finally found it in herself to let the whole issue sink, finding it in herself to love and care about him even if it meant that he would be happy with someone else other than her, but by then, both of them were seeing new people. Philip never budged from his stance whenever Micah brought up the supposed cheating fiasco. They both came to believe that Philip's friends were lying, which was not too hard to believe since they had since double-crossed him more than a few times. Once they both graduated college, they went their separate ways.

That was around twelve years ago.

"Micah?" Philip asked, waving his hand in front of her face."Hell-oo?"

"Sorry," Micah jumped, snapping out of her daydream. "I was just… remembering."

"I never cheated on you, Micah," Philip murmured, knowing exactly what she was remembering, knowing that it still haunted her. "Truth be told, I thought that I was going to spend the rest of my life with you."

Micah's breath hitched.

After so long, he was still the man she fell in love with all those years ago. He was one of her most serious relationships, and she never forgot the look in his eyes when he was completely serious. Philip had had that look when he asked her to prom, when he asked her to stay with him while he was in college even though they knew it would be hard, when he asked her if she wanted to marry him…

Micah suddenly reached up and grabbed Philip's face, kissing him impulsively. She remembered how his lips had felt against hers that first night under the awning of the café they had gone to for their second date. They had been laughing and they had looked at each other through their giggling and went silent. Philip leaned down and picked Micah up for that first kiss.

But this wasn't a romantic cafe under the bright moon, this was a public supermarket.

"Micah…" He quickly broke off the kiss, nudging her to take a few steps back. "This isn't… It's not like years ago. You can't live in the past."

She took a step back, waves of embarrassment washing over her. Her eyes hurriedly looked down at his left hand and she was half-angry and half-relieved to see that he didn't wear a wedding ring.

"You're not married though,"

"I… It's not like that. I don't like to wear the ring. I just-,"

"Philip?" a sweet voice asked from behind Micah. "There you are! Penny and I have been looking for you everywhere."

Micah turned around and saw a flawless woman with long blonde hair. She smiled at Micah and went to stand next to Philip. A small girl peeked out from behind her knee, clutching her hand and hiding behind her.

"Sarah, this is Micah. We knew each other in school," Philip tried to casually introduced the two, but the interaction was clearly awkward and strained.

"Hi, I'm his wife," Sarah told Micah, extending her hand with a childish grin."I remember him mentioning you a few times. He said you were in the Navy."

Micah paused for a moment, and then took Sarah's hand in her own while saying, "Nice to meet you. And yeah, I'm a fighter pilot."

"Wow. Thank you for risking your life for our country." Sarah smiled as she looked behind her to the little girl. "This is Penny, our daughter. Sorry, she's shy."

Micah nodded, feigning a pleasant smile, and watched as Philip switched his bag of thumbprint cookies to his other hand. Penny peeked out from behind her mother and saw the cookies. Her eyes went wild as she leapt forward. The little girl jumped to try to take the bag from his father, but Philip's arm stood well above hers

.

"Daddy, Daddy!" Penny exclaimed. "You found them!"

Philip laughed to Micah, "We've been coming here for a while and getting these, but they haven't had them for the past week or so. Penny has a bit of an addiction to them now, and I guess this place restocked them." Philip put the bag into the basket he had in one hand, she hadn't noticed it, and leaned down next to his daughter, who had his pale blue eyes. "You can't have any until we get home, sweetie. You know, it was actually Micah who gave me my first thumbprint cookie."

"Really?" Penny gaped, straining her head up to gaze up into Micah's face with awe.

"Really," Her father confirmed.

Penny turned to Micah and smiled. Micah smiled back, knowing something was stinging in the back of her mind when she looked at the girl, but she couldn't figure out what it was.

"Well, we'd better get home," Philip mentioned, placing one hand lightly against his wife's elbow, trying to lead her away.

"It was nice to finally meeting you, Micah," Sarah grinned, taking the basket from her husband.

"Nice to meet you too," She returned."Philip needs someone like you."

"We both like to think so," was her cheery reply. It made Micah sick to the stomach to hear her voice. "You're always welcome to come for dinner whenever you have a night off."

"I'd like that," Micah truthfully said, glancing at her former love.

Penny grabbed Sarah's hand again and dragged her towards the register. Philip stood for a moment looking into Micah's eyes, making sure that his family had disappeared down the line of closed registers.

She blinked away tears."I like that name; Penny,"

"I'm sorry, Micah," He furrowed his eyebrows in concern and regret. "I wish things were different between us."

"Why don't you wear your ring?"

"I… Sarah and I… I should go. Well, goodbye, Micah. It was good seeing you after all this time. Stay safe, hear me? I'm holding you to that dinner in the near future." He then turned on his heel and walked down the aisle after his wife and daughter.

Micah held her bag close to her as she blinked back tears. She remembered talking with Philip about baby names as she played with her engagement ring. They had wanted a baby as soon as they were married. They both brought up the name Penny at the same time, and from then on, they knew that they would name their daughter Penelope Blake.

But that's not what hurt Micah the most. She turned to her cart and placed the bag down carefully. Studying the pictured cookie on the front of the package, Micah thought about eating them with Philip as much as they could until they doubled over, about to vomit. He had even snuck them into class for them to eat in case they were about to go to sleep because of how boring the teacher's lectures on stem-cell research was. Micah leaned against the cart as another memory stabbed her in the brain.

She remembered the day she had gone out onto the roof of the high school on the day of graduation. It had been hard to stay in contact with Philip, as he was a few hours' drive away. He had called her and said he couldn't make it. But there he was, sitting in his car in the parking lot, and she was on the roof at his request. He had called her from his phone, instructing her to close her eyes and to only open them when he told her to. Micah had felt a tap on her shoulder. When she turned around, there he was, on his knees holding flowers and a ring box.

"Micah Harriet Basset," Philip started. "Will you marry me?"

"Yes, of course!" Micah cried as she tried to cover her wide grin with the back of her hand. "But don't say my middle name ever again,"

He chuckled, sliding the ring on her finger and standing up to pressed his mouth against hers. When they pulled away, Philip smiled and leaned his forehead against hers."You know I love you, right?"

"I know," she returned his smile, tilting her head for another quick kiss.

"Good. Don't you forget it."


	3. Chapter 3

Micah took a deep breath of fresh air. The gentle breeze was damp with the scent of the tall trees, and the sun bled through the leaves as the boat continued to rock gently back and forth. She didn't hear birds singing. The only sound that met her ears were the growling of the walkers and the crackling of the radio. Getting to her feet, Micah rubbed the back of her sore neck with her hand, standing at the railing to look at their positioning on the river.

"Sleep well?" A young woman stood against the pilot house with a baby cradled in her arms.

"Yeah," Micah's eyes dropped to the child. "How's the little one doing?"

"She's got everything she needs, thank you." The light-brown haired woman pushed off the wall and stood beside her. "I'm Maggie."

"Micah. Micah Basset."

"I always thought Micah was a boys name."

They shared a mutual laugh. "Yeah, my parents were dead set on the name." 

"Don't take me wrong," Maggie quickly put in, with a Southern drawl. "It's a great name."

"So what's your story? Your group's story, I mean."

The woman's tan face fell, and she uneasily shifted in place. "We used to have an entire jail yard cleared from Walkers. There were more of us before the Governor broke in and had the place overrun with his captured Walkers. I lost people close to me...my sister and my dad. Daryl lost Carol." Her voice lowered to little less than a whisper, and in the light of the moon, Micah could see tears glimmering at the corner of Maggie's eyes.

"I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," was the abrupt response.

After a moment of silence, Maggie silently went back down to the sleeping quarters, leaving Micah alone to stare out into the night, listening to the low groaning of the Rotters that hung over the side of her boat.

She heard the heavy boots before she saw them. Spinning around, Micah found herself almost face to face with Daryl.

"Whoa, lady," Daryl grumbled, stepping back awkwardly. Something told Micah that he didn't do well with physical contact, accidental or not.

"Hey, you and Rick can hold down the fort here for a while, right?" She asked all of a sudden, unaware of the words that came out of her mouth until it was too late.

"Got a hot date or somethin'?" Daryl sneered as he pulled his crossbow off his back. Micah watched as he began to wipe down the arrows with a dirty rag, although they looked squeaky clean to her.

"I'm going for a run," She said point blank, blushing slightly and hoping that the redneck wouldn't see how red her face felt.

"Don't do anything stupid that'll put my group in danger," He warned and looked up with serious eyes.

"Can you," was her dismissive response to his threat, "or can you not protect my boat while I'm gone?"

"Don't get your panties in a bunch." Daryl argued in his rough undertone. "I can handle it."

"Good," Micah nodded, throwing the rope ladder over the port side. She made sure she had her gun and threw one leg over the side of the boat before turning back to Daryl. "Oh, and one more thing."

Daryl threw his eyes at her with a bored look and grunted for her to go ahead.

"I would appreciate it if you don't tell the others. This is important."

"Yeah, whatever."

Micah climbed down beside the corpses and splashed into the waist deep water, pleased that she had gotten the last word with him. That man could be a problem with her if she wasn't careful. She jogged down the dock and entered the parking lot. With some trial and error, she eventually located a small car with a half tank of gas which thankfully hadn't been siphoned out. It was plenty for where she was going.

After she had hotwired the vehicle, Micah crossed her fingers that it would start for her. It had been a few years since training with the Police Academy where they taught her how to do such things. Initially, as a high schooler, she had been reluctant but she had known it would someday come in handy. The engine sputtered to life after a few sparks between the two wires she held against each other.

A sigh of relief escaped her mouth. Of course, she didn't believe it was luck. Luck hadn't gotten her to where she was today. A little pain, a little heartbreak with a heavy dose of will and strength had helped her succeed so far in her life.

Micah cleared her throat. She had done enough of thinking of her past lately. It was time she stopped. This wasn't how she usually was. But the arrival of Rick's group had made her feel strange inside. It had been so long since she had held a conversation with anyone, not counting the string of tropical curses she mostly directed at the Rotters. None of them understood her though. They meant well, and she was sure that they were grateful for her help, but they didn't know her story.

So Micah was going to see someone who knew her; someone who perhaps knew her better than she knew herself.

She cleared her mind and drove, concentrating on steering through the rubble and the bloated, disfigured bodies meandering on the road. If she truly wanted something, she would get it. Micah forgot everything until she was just driving on a dirt road. She could find her way to him easily. This was the only way she could justify what she was doing. If only he had let her back in all those years ago…

"Stop!" a voice yelled.

Micah jumped, having heard through the open window, and pressed down hard on the brakes. She faced a tall wall with armed guards posted at the top. Slowly opening the door, she stepped out with her hands raised, eyeing the darkness for any Rotters.

"Drop the gun!" the man yelled.

She didn't move. "I'm Micah! I'm a friend of the Governor!"

"Hey," a small woman directed over the back of the fence. "This chick says she knows you. Says her name's Micah."

"Send her in," a low voice rumbled.

The gates to Woodbury opened and Philip stood inside, a relieved smile on his face as he came forward to embrace her. "Micah!"

Her heart stopped. Micah lost her sense of everything as she was enveloped in his arms.

"I have missed you so much," She said into his shoulder, holding him tight.

"I missed you too. I was so afraid that you'd…" Pulling back, the Governor took Micah's hand in his and pulled her away from the gates. He ordered his men to close the gates before leading her away.

Micah eagerly followed him until they reached a brick building. They entered the building and climbed the steep stairs to the top floor.

"I know it's a long climb, but I like the privacy," Philip laughed when he saw the look of surprise in her eyes at the sight of the flights of stairs. "And the penthouse has the best view. Well, it would under different circumstances. I like to use my imagination."

"How did you even become the Governor?" Micah inquired, finding her voice.

"The people of the town kind of… appointed me, in a sense," he replied, humbly. "It makes them feel like we have a real town here. Butwhere have you been?"

"I was picked up by one of the naval patrol boats after my plane went down," Micah said cautiously. "I've been living on the boat ever since the rest of them died."

"Alone? Why haven't you come here sooner?" Philip shook his head, stopping at a door and opening it. "Never mind. What matters is that you're here now. Would you like a drink?"

Micah paused for a moment, taking in the layout of the room he had motioned her into. "I haven't had hard liquor since before I joined the Navy. My tolerance level is at an all time low," she declined.

"I'm actually getting kind of sick of it, to tell the truth," He confessed, holding the tinted glass bottle in his hand and rubbing circles with his thumb into the faded paper label. "The first few bottles were amazing, but now I've gotten too used to it. I've been pulling back to keep my senses sharp. I'll probably save this bottle for one of Woodbury's party."

"You have parties?"

"We've had a few to celebrate birthdays every four months or so. There was one about a week ago to just celebrate life. The town has been around for a long time, and we're all like family now."

"Philip, there's a reason I came here," Micah told him, taking a deep breath.

The Governor looked at her inquisitively, nodding for her to continue.

"I… I've never had a serious relationship since we broke up… I just…" Her strong voice trailed off. She sighed and kept going, "I just want you again."

Before Philip could say anything, Micah stepped forward and pressed her lips against his. She hoped he wanted her, too, because he was all she was ever certain about needing. After a moment, the Governor took her face in between his hands, reciprocating the passionate kiss.

She felt a burning desire and her hands were suddenly out of her control. Micah's fingers went to Philip's top shirt button. His lips stopped moving against hers and he stepped away, much to her annoyance and disappointment.

"Micah, there's something I need to show you. Close your eyes," Philip said, directing her to the couch which had been situated in the center of the room.

Micah sat down and buried her face in her hands. She bit back her tears, feeling stupid and naive. She knew she needed to stop getting upset about this man. Micah told herself that he wasn't worth it. She had known that nothing would've happened even if her insides were still boiling in desire and hope. Even if he had still loved her, how would she have explained the group back on her ship?

"Alright, open up," Philip announced. His voice came from a distance.

Micah slowly let her top and bottom eyelids leave each other. She blinked once and saw that Philip was seated at his kitchen table with two other people. Micah couldn't make out who was with him, so she got up and walked close enough to get a clearer view.

"Why are their faces covered?" Micah demanded once she saw the burlap bags covering the guests' heads.

"Micah, you remember Sarah and Penny? My wife and daughter?" Philip asked as he pulled the bags off of their heads.

Micah noticed that something wasn't right, but she couldn't place it at first.

"Don't be rude, girls, say hello. You remember Micah, right? We met her a few years ago in the store when we were looking for cookies," Philip prompted.

Penny snapped her jaws at her father's outstretched hand. Micah gasped as she finally realized what was wrong. It wasn't the same family she had met in the store so many years ago.

Two walkers, who used to be the woman and girl he loved, were sitting chained to their chairs.


	4. Chapter 4

Micah clapped a hand over her mouth, recoiling back. Her eyes were wide with fear and surprise and shock; her free hand felt the walls for a doorknob, wanting to run away and hide in a little corner because of the sudden swelling that held her abdomen tight.

"Micah, baby, it's okay," Philip held a reassuring hand out to her, "It's fine. Come here."

She shook her head, still looking blindly for a door. When her trembling fingers wrapped around a knob, she twisted her twist and pushed in. Micah's mouth opened to scream at the sickening sight she saw but before any noise could escape from her throat, a rough hand harshly covered her mouth and the young woman was pulled back into the main room, struggling and kicking against the strength of the Governor.

"Stop fighting," He growled near her ear, holding her in a suffocating grip until she stopped squirming. "Micah. Stop fighting me."

Micah rigidly stood still; her muscles contracted against his arms, trying to loosen his crushing clasp.

"Good," His voice continued by her ear; his thumb stroked the soft skin on her throat, his breath still fanning across the side of her face and down her shirt. "If I let you go, will you scream?"

She shook her head no.

"Will you run?"

She shook her head no. When he released her, Micah stumbled a few steps away from him. Her eyes shifted between the two rotting corpses and Philip. "What are you doing?" She asked in a tone drenched with disbelief and disappointment. "Philip, you know they aren't human."

He put one finger up to his lips, strutting over to the cabinet to pour himself another drink. "We'll save the explanations for later. Come here." He motioned to the table where his wife and daughter were growling. "I think seeing you calls for celebration, and you've always been a happy drunk."

Micah felt the outline of the knife in her boot and, with this knowledge, followed the Governor to the table. Like a gentleman, he held a chair out for her and didn't sit down until she was comfortable.

"Did you ever get married, Micah?" Philip asked as he poured out two glasses with Irish whiskey.

"No," was her dull response as she took the glass nearest to her and put the rim against her lips.

"Why not, didn't find the right one?"

"That would be it," She admitted truthfully, swallowing the liquid which reached her entire body. Her head pounded when she remembered the heads of several Rotters soaking in giant fishtanks is the room she had accidently opened the door to. "I just didn't find the right one.'

"I think you need to lie down, Philip," Micah soothed as she helped the drunken man to the couch.

"Com on, Micah," He slurred. "One moar dreenk."

Despite his protests, Philip relaxed on the couch and was soon fast asleep. Micah waited to make sure he was really out before she hastily made her way to the door.

After the two had finished the first bottle (well, Philip had consumed about 75% of it), Micah offered to grab another. She poured herself a small amount of the liquor before diluting it with water. As Philip had chugged away at the bottle, Micah cautiously took sips while laughing with him, as not to catch him off guard. Once he was drunk enough, she pretended to drink from her empty glass.

Now she stooped to pick up the bottles from the floor and throw them away. Micah hoped that the Governor wouldn't remember her even being there. Grabbing the door knob, Micah paused when she heard a faint growling. Philip had taken his "family" into the back room after realizing that Micah was still troubled by their presence.

Stepping as lightly as she could, Micah made her way down the hall. She stopped to bend over and retrieve the knife from her boot before continuing. Micah's heart pounded. If she did this, she knew that her relationship with Philip wouldn't be the same. It couldn't.

But was she really sure that she wanted to be with Philip anymore? He wasn't the loving man she had known through high school, and after seeing the fish tanks in his office, Micah didn't want to even be in his apartment. It gave her the chills. And the fact that he kept his rotting wife and daughter in the same place he lived was just as unnerving.

When she reached the door, Micah took a deep breath. She assured herself that Philip wasn't the same, and that he had no family anymore. He should've grieved them when they died, but now that they were still around, he had never lost them, at least in his mind.

Micah grabbed the doorknob and pushed it in with her shoulder. Stepping back, she waited for what used to be Penny and Sarah Blake to emerge from the darkness, but nothing happened. Micah stepped inside and saw them standing in the corner. Without a second thought, she purposefully walked up behind the Governor's late wife and stabbed her in the head. She fell with a thud.

Penny turned towards Micah and growled. Micah pressed her feet against Sarah's head as she tried to pull her knife out. In the split second before Penny was upon her, Micah pulled hard enough to release her knife, falling to the floor.

Penny towered over Micah now. She looked down, and Micah regretted it all for a minute. Penny was supposed to be her daughter, and if she were her daughter to begin with, she would've still been alive.

Micah snapped out of it just as Penny reached for her with snapping jaws. Micah held her knife in the air and braced herself. Penny came crashing down on to the weapon. She pulled her knife out, wiped it on Sarah's clothes, and closed the door to the room gently.

Breathing heavily, Micah ran to the door. "Bye, Philip," she whispered, not even looking back. This would be the last time she saw him, but she was done caring for him. At least, it was the last time she hoped to see him.

Micah walked calmly through the streets of Woodbury, not wanting to cause any of the citizens alarm or suspicion. Approaching the gates, she stopped and looked up to the guard towers where chosen citizen's paced with loaded weapons.

"Excuse me!" she called.

"Going home already?" inquired the same woman who had let her in a few hours before.

"Yeah, I've gotta get home. Thanks for having me though," Micah returned as cheerfully as she could.

"I'm sure the Governor would like you to stay a little longer," a man told her. "We take people in, you know."

Before Micah could reply, the woman said, "Where's the Governor?"

"Oh, he passed out not too long ago. He wanted to celebrate my arrival with some whiskey and I think he celebrated a little too much," Micah laughed, trying to make the mirth reach her eyes.

"Well, you're welcome to come back anytime, Micah," the woman said after she had opened the gate.

"Thanks," Micah yelled back over her shoulder, as she was already halfway to her car.

Once she was sitting in the car, Micah turned the keys and the ignition started. She turned around and drove away at a moderate speed. After making it over the hill, she stopped and looked over her shoulder. Woodbury's guards were now far away.

Pushing the car out of neutral, Micah sped off, slamming on the acceleration. Before she knew it, she was coming up near the river where her boat was drifting off of.

Micah got out of the car and walked through the woods, just expecting things to have changed lugubriously since she last saw it. Instead, when she dodged a few Rotters and climbed up the ladder, she saw Daryl leaning against the table in the pilot house cleaning his arrows.

"Where is everyone?" Micah asked him, throwing her leg over the side and wiping the gasoline that stuck to her fingers on her clothes.

Daryl spit on his rag and muttered, "Asleep. Where else do you think they'd be this late in the night?"

Micah sighed. Looking around, she quickly went through her mental inventory and didn't see anything out of place. Micah turned to the kitchen and leaned over the counter. She didn't know she was crying until Daryl was behind her, curious as to what had her sobbing openly.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked gruffy but not meanly.

Micah noticed that he had been concerned enough to put down his arrows and rag before she huffed, "Nothing."

"Where'd you go?" He pressed.

"Leave me alone," she grumbled, wiping her wet face and grumpily trying to slip past him out toward the open air.

"Tell me where you went." Daryl crossed his arms in front of his chest, blocking her way.

"I…" Micah knew he wouldn't leave her alone until she told him the truth. Sighing deeply, she said, "I went to Woodbury."


End file.
